It Was Just A Dream
by Roxy Rosee
Summary: Ever since the quarry, Daryl has been dreaming about Shane. Dreaming things he'd never admit aloud. But after getting injured looking for Sophia, Shane helps Daryl learn to distinguish dreams from reality.


"He ought to be out cold, by now," Hershel told Shane as they stood in the hallway, "He was fairly adamant about not wanting any pain killers, but I watched him take the pills myself."

"He'll live, though?" Shane asked softly.

"That he will. Though it would help if he'd stay off of his feet for a few days."

Shane snorted, "Fat chance of that happening. Nearly dies searchin' the woods for a ghost…"

Abruptly, Shane cut himself off, sticking a hand out for Hershel to shake. Tentatively, the older man grasped his hand. "Thank you," Shane said firmly. "I'm just gonna check on him before I call it for the evening."

"Suit yourself," Hershel sighed, and climbed the stairs up to his room.

Shane wasn't particularly quiet when he entered the bedroom, nor when he plopped down on the chair beside Daryl's bed.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" he muttered in the archer's direction. "You could have fucking died out there, and for what? A dead girl? Letting Rick's guilt get into your head… Letting pity for Carol… Jesus, you could have _died_…"

_You never would have made it back to me,_ were the words Shane couldn't say aloud _You're mine_. He moved gently from his chair to the side of the bed, leaning back on one hand and watching Daryl's calm expression as he slept. Things had been…tense, between the two of them lately. Not the kind of tension that had them at each other's throats, at least most of the time. Not the kind rooted in jealousy or betrayal.

Hell, maybe all of this was a figment of Shane's imagination. But he was sure, _positive_ in fact, that he'd caught the younger Dixon staring at him from across the fire on several occasions since the quarry. Ever since Merle had been taken out of the picture, he'd found Daryl looking at him more and more often. Watching him talk with Carl; eyeing his back when he walked the perimeter of camp.

It had started back at the CDC, at least so far as Shane's involvement. With scratches across his face and neck, he'd drunkenly stumbled down the hall and into the first room that appealed to him. Unbeknownst to him, the roll-away bed in the room was already occupied.

Shane had watched him for a beat, passed out on his back in bed with his shirt half undone and his fly open. He'd hovered over the bed for a few seconds, or a few minutes. And when he licked his lips, and realized his mouth had gone dry, Shane dropped to his knees in front of him.

It hadn't taken much fumbling to shove Daryl's jeans down just far enough to be effective. And Shane remembered chuckling giddily when he found that the archer was going commando.

At first, Shane had only teased at Daryl's flaccid length. He stroked him loosely, ran his fingertips over the silky skin. But when Daryl began responding to him, Shane grew more confident. Daryl's cock grew in his hand, becoming hard and long, and eventually throbbing with arousal.

Now fisting Daryl's length outright, Shane palmed the bulge in his own jeans and hissed at the much-needed contact. As he watched, Daryl's hips stuttered upwards, unconsciously seeking out friction, and the slumbering man simultaneously let out a soft whine. Without a moment of hesitation, Shane situated himself on his knees between Daryl's splayed legs and swallowed down the pulsing member in front of him.

Daryl let out a quiet moan and the muscles of his thighs twitched at the sudden onslaught of pleasure. The ex-cop hadn't given head before, but he'd gotten enough to know what would feel good, and soon enough Shane was bobbing along Daryl's rigid length like a pro, swirling his tongue at the tip and tracing the thick vein that ran up the underside.

It hardly took any time at all to get the archer panting hoarsely into the air. Though his eyes remained shut, his mouth had fallen open to an expression across between surprise and bliss. Idly, Shane wondered what Daryl might be dreaming about right now, how far his fantasies differed from his circumstances. Slender hips bucked up off the bed again, this time with greater force, and Shane reached down to jerk open his pants and seize himself desperately.

Daryl's cock wept pre-cum under Shane's caresses, and Shane moaned around his length as he fisted his own cock. Abruptly, Shane felt a calloused palm graze the side of his face. His eyes darted up to Daryl's face in shock, but the archer's eyes were still shut in blissful ignorance. His body though, his body seemed very much aware. Daryl's fingers twined with Shane's hair, and his hips bucked up off the bed in a steady rhythm, seeking out the wet heat of Shane's mouth. Daryl's chest was heaving with the effort, panting harsh and loud into the still air of the room.

And just as Shane came hard at his own hand, spilling onto the floor at the foot of Daryl's bed, the fingers in his hair tightened until the sting bordered on painful, and Daryl let out a strangled moan as he shot off down Shane's willing throat. The ex-cop pulled back just enough to swallow, watching the play of emotions on Daryl's face as he was worked through his orgasm. Just as Shane finished licking him clean, Daryl's eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused. And Shane nearly snorted out a laugh at how confused he looked. Confused, but sated.

"S'just a dream," Shane whispered to him. "Go back to sleep."

It was a heady rush when Daryl dutifully obeyed, drifting away as Shane rose unsteadily. He tucked Daryl back into his jeans, but didn't bother to clean his come off the floor. A part of him hoped Daryl would see it the next morning, and remember.

After that, it had been long days of furtive glances before Shane had had the chance to get him alone. But with Lori and Rick sharing a bed once again, and Carl on the mend, Shane set out late at night for Daryl's end of camp. The man was already asleep when Shane slipped silently inside, and didn't rouse when a hand palmed his bulge through the thin fabric of his cargo pants.

Shane hadn't thought to question, at the time, his fortune at finding the archer already hard and wanting. But he was careful, so much more so than the time before, not to wake Daryl as he slowly unzipped the man's fly, and reached inside to grasp his length.

It hadn't taken much to get Daryl coming all over himself. Splayed out on his sleeping bag, Shane knelt next to his chest and stroked both of them slowly, steadily. He froze in shock when Daryl's head lolled to the side, and he groaned lowly. But when the man's eyes never opened, and his body went even stiller than before, Shane figured it was safe to continue. Twisting his palm rapidly over the head, Shane came just after Daryl, both of them painting the archer's shirt with white and huffing out labored breaths of pleasure.

Shane didn't bother to tuck Daryl away, or make any attempt at cleaning up the mess they'd made of his shirt. But the next day, Shane had taken special pleasure in seeing Daryl ball up that very shirt and shove it into his pack, sneaking off into the woods undoubtedly to clean it himself. He wondered again what Daryl might have been dreaming about the night before. What the archer himself believed could have spurred him to shoot all over his chest in his sleep.

And that thought chipped away at the back of his mind all day, leaving Shane a mix of aroused and frustrated. He knew there was only one way to mend this particular problem. So even though it was a risk, he found himself outside Daryl's tent again that same night, listening for the telltale snores.

For several minutes, Shane managed to hold himself at bay, hearing only silence. But then that familiar string of thoughts reared its ugly head, and he convinced himself that Daryl _must_ be asleep. That going inside would be just _fine_, because Shane needed this after all.

He grinned widely when he found Daryl asleep on top of his sleeping bag, with nothing on but his boxers and a thin t-shirt. And with so little fabric impeding him, it was only fitting when Shane swallowed down Daryl's already hard cock, paying little attention to the way the man's breathing stuttered, and thighs shook. It was only natural, after all, for Daryl's body to react so intensely and unconsciously to this kind of stimulation.

The archer bit out a garbled whimpering noise, the likes of which Shane had never heard him conjure, and without warning Shane was coming hard, moaning too loud around Daryl's cock as his own dripped cum onto the tent floor. Shane sat back on his haunches, disengaging himself from the man underneath him, and tried to catch his breath. It occurred to him that he ought to leave. He'd already gotten what he came for, as it was, and wouldn't it be a little too gay to stick around _just_ to get Daryl off?

But the younger man's cock was practically begging for him. It lay pointing up towards Daryl's belly button, twitching and throbbing with need. So Shane took Daryl back into his mouth, bobbing up and down with haste. And when his eyes went to Daryl's face, he registered the briefest surprise that the man maintained his habit of biting his lower lip, even in his sleep. _Sexy_, Shane remembered thinking to himself, just before Daryl was whining high from the back of his throat, signaling his release. And Shane pulled off just in time, stroking Daryl through his orgasm and watching the man make a mess of yet another shirt.

If he was being really honest with himself, he liked the idea of Daryl waking up to cum caked over his body, and wondering just what had happened the night before.

But now Daryl was lying passed out in bed. Injured. And Shane couldn't help but feel angry. Daryl should _not_ be the one out there risking his life for a dead little girl, not when it was Rick's fuck up that got the kid lost in the first place. And whether the archer knew it or not, he was Shane's. And he had no fucking right to be out there getting hurt with no one around to save him.

"You could have fuckin' died," Shane muttered again, ghosting his hand over the plane of Daryl's chest. The man was curled onto his side, undoubtedly to avoid pressing against his injury, and Shane noted to himself that he'd never seen Daryl shirtless before. There were scars. Dozens of them, and Shane had idea of where they'd come from. But he paid them no mind, and passed a finger lightly over Daryl's nipple. The archer shivered in his sleep, then let out a long sigh.

"_Shane_," came the muted whisper from lips pressed into the pillow. The ex-officer froze in shock, staring down at the still-sleeping man. He _couldn't_ have heard him right. Daryl couldn't…_know._ But the sheet covering the lower half of Daryl's body began to tent noticeably, and Shane's body responded in kind.

Shane gently rolled Daryl to his back, and pulled down the sheet covering him. He was wearing cargos again, but they were hardly a barrier for Shane's skilled hands. He eased them down to Daryl's knees and eyed the man's cock hungrily, taking it softly in hand and slowly running his finger tips up and down.

"Yeah, you like that," Shane told him under his breath, "You want it bad, don't you Daryl?"

He was in no way prepared for the moment Daryl's eyes opened in slits, groggily locking in on Shane's stunned face. A moment passed, with Shane's hand still wrapped around the archer's throbbing length. But Daryl didn't buck him off angrily. He didn't punch Shane in the face. In truth, he didn't do much at all, just laid there sleepily, with a slight smile quirking at the corner of his mouth.

But then his face fell into a small pout, and he quietly slurred, "Don' stop."

"Daryl?" Shane tentatively rasped, "You know where you are?"

"M'dreamin'…" Daryl sighed out slowly, "'gain."

_Oh._ Well that explained a hell of a lot. All these weeks, and Daryl had been convinced that he'd _dreamt_ all the times Shane had made him come. No wonder Shane had caught him staring so intently in his direction, whenever he was sure the ex-cop was preoccupied.

"You think you're dreaming?"

"Mm," Daryl grunted in the affirmative, blinking blearily at the room around him.

Shane began to stroke him again, measured up and down movements, and Daryl breathed out a grateful moan.

"Do I talk to you, when you're dreamin'?" Shane asked him.

Daryl's hips swirled upwards furtively. "Sometimes," he murmured, "S'better when ya don'."

Shane's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, "What do I say?"

And when Daryl didn't answer right away, Shane palmed the slick head, relishing the way Daryl's back arched gracefully at the sensation.

"What do I say, Daryl?"

"That ya want me," he bit out breathlessly, "An' that I…I want it."

And Shane grinned wide as a Cheshire cat because _that_ wasn't right at all. He'd hardly said a word to Daryl, any of the times he'd snuck in to see him at night. Certainly nothing along the lines Daryl was suggesting. And that could only mean that on the nights he didn't visit the youngest Dixon's tent, Daryl was dreaming about Shane all on his own.

"You're not dreamin', Daryl," Shane said softly.

"S'watcha always say," the young man mumbled back.

"I'll convince you," Shane promised, and crawled up Daryl's body until he was carefully propped over him. He flicked open his jeans and pulled both their cocks into his hand, rubbing them together and stroking them simultaneously.

Daryl groaned lowly, and his eyes opened just a little bit wider.

"Yeah, never did that in any of your dreams, did I?" Shane panted, his mouth inches from Daryl's. He ground his hips into the pliant body below him and dipped his head to the crook of Daryl's neck, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin.

"Shane?" Daryl whimpered lowly, burying his face in the larger man's chest. Shane twined a hand between them to fist their lengths together, stroking over sensitized nerves, and two calloused hands moved to claw at Shane's back, drawing him closer. "_Shane._"

"Yeah, this ain't nothin' like your dreams, is it Daryl?" Shane panted, bucking their bodies together and using his hand to augment the friction. "I'm gonna make you come _so hard_, then you'll know this ain't no dream."

Daryl's eyes went wide, and then he was biting at his lip again, trying to hold back a brazen moan.

"Yeah, that's right. Give it to me, Daryl. Come for me."

The archer's body trembled, then went taut. And looking Shane right in the eye, Daryl came hard between them, groaning loudly and bucking wildly until Shane followed him in a crash of pleasure. Shane came, but only when he'd looked Daryl right in the eye. Only when he saw the realization in Daryl's blue orbs, the knowledge that this was _real_.

Daryl's eyes slammed shut when it was over, but Shane could tell by the pinkness in his cheeks that he was very much awake, and aware. He grabbed a napkin from the bedside table to clean the two of them off, and gently helped Daryl back into his pants, careful not to jostle his side.

He sat up on the bed and leaned over Daryl, running his fingertips lightly over the wound on his head, then the one at his side, and ignoring the way the archer had to fight not to flinch.

"Why'd ya think you were dreamin'?" Shane asked him, with his hand laid lightly on Daryl's bandaged side.

"'Cuz ya never stayed," Daryl mumbled sleepily, refusing to look at him.

"Well, alright then," Shane said firmly, moving back to the chair and propping his feet up on the bed.

"Whatcha doin'?" Daryl immediately asked him, looking mildly alarmed.

"Stayin'. What's it look like? Now shut up and get some rest. Doctor's orders."


End file.
